


Resolutions

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 23:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5646310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold has offered Belle French a considerable sum of money to spend New Year's Eve with him. More curious than anything else, she accepts his invitation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolutions

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 2016 :)

Standing on the porch of Mr. Gold's huge house, withdrawing her hand from the bell she just rang, Belle still doesn't experience the trepidation she expected when the infamous landlord asked her to spend the last evening of the year with him.

When he extended the invitation – along with five brand new bills of fifty dollar – to her almost a week ago, she didn't know what to think. She still doesn't understand why a man she barely knows would want to spend New Year's Eve with her and her alone.

But Mr. Gold has convinced her that his plans are not untoward and... well, she's got nothing better to do. The truth is that this evening she'd rather be with someone she barely knows than to spend yet another New Year's Eve with either her father or her ex. She doesn't feel like clubbing either, which rules out hanging out friends as well.

If she's honest with herself, the money he offers her for her time is more than welcome too. Besides, she's rather curious about the mysterious house and the solitary landlord who lives there... the supposedly harsh and cruel man who was all but _shy_ when he invited her when she was closing up the library.

She braces herself when she hears the even tapping sound of what must be his cane coming from the other side of the closed door, not forgetting for a moment that she still doesn't know why he asked for her company or even how he intends to spend the evening with her in the first place.

When the door is opened, she smiles at the man on the other side of it in what she hopes is a pleasing manner which doesn't betray her sudden nerves.

"Good evening, Mr. Gold."

"Miss French," he says, looking at her with surprise.

"I... you asked me to come, didn't you?" she asks, not understanding why he seems to be somewhat bewildered. "Tonight? New Year's Eve?"

"I did, yes. It's just... I wasn't certain that you'd come."

"I said I would, didn't I?" she replies, confused.

"Of course," he says, looking at her as if he still can't believe that she actually showed up for the meeting she agreed to.

"You said that we will spend the evening at your home, didn't you?" she asks carefully, not understanding either why he doesn't invite her to come into his house now that she's standing on his porch. "Seven o'clock?"

"I did," he says, but he still looks at her as if _he_ is the poorly instructed guest.

"Are you going to let me in?"

"Of course," he says again, looking at her with a rather sheepish look that she hadn't been able to imagine on his face until now. " _Of course_."

Mr. Gold gestures her to follow him into his house after all and she does with eagerness and some hesitance alike, curiously looking around herself while reminding herself to remain on her guard. For as far as she knows, she's the only person – other than the landlord himself, of course – to set foot in his home.

"You can leave your coat here," he says, gesturing at an antique looking coat rack.

When she takes off her winter coat, turning towards the rack, she feels to her surprise a pair of hands lightly brush her shoulder when he appears to help her take it of. Belle tenses instinctively, not having expected him in the slightest to assist her.

"I'm... I'm very sorry, Miss French," he murmurs, stepping away from her so quickly that she sees him stumble from the corners of her eyes.

"There's... there's nothing to forgive," she says quickly, having some trouble to take off her coat on her own accord now that he has startled her, in retrospect more by his unexpected gentlemanliness than anything else.

"Please, make yourself at home," he says, sounding rather anxious when she has hung her coat next to a black one that must be his own and he shows her to what is presumably the living room.

"Thank you," she replies, following him.

"Would you like something to drink?"

"I'd like some tea, if that isn't any trouble," she says absent-mindedly, mostly focused on the sheer amount of _things_ that he has gathered in his living room, crowding the majority of the available surfaces.

Some of them she finds beautiful, some of them not, but all are equally intriguing... and all of them are doubtlessly invaluable antiques. Still, she doesn't forget that she's basically in a stranger's house and that said stranger is making her a drink while she's examining his house all but open-mouthed.

Telling herself that she will probably have plenty of time later to scrutinize his house and its decorations, Belle lingers on the threshold between the hallway and the living room rather than sitting down immediately like he suggested. From there, she keeps an eye on him while he puts a kettle on, making certain that he won't be serving her anything but actual tea. It doesn't surprise her in the slightest when he indeed doesn't temper with the beverage, but it's a relief nonetheless to know for sure.

Seeing him pour the boiling water in two cups and placing them on a tray, she realizes that he probably won't be able to manage his cane and the tray at the same time.

"Let me help you with that?" she asks, gesturing at the tea he prepared and hoping that she comes across as if she saw his prediction by incident rather than having watched him the whole time.

"That would be helpful, yes, thank you," he says after a moment of hesitation.

She takes the tray with the cups of tea along with a box with a variety of tea bags and an empty cup for the used bags. She carries the items to the living room, where she gets two coaters which she spots on the wooden, doubtlessly also antique table before she carefully puts the cups with steaming water down on them.

Only then she sits down after all on an expensive looking but definitely uncomfortable leather couch. The landlord puts down a plate with biscuits he took from the kitchen and seats himself in an arm chair opposite her.

He hands her the box with tea bags to chose one. To her relief, she finds a single fruity taste between the many more bitter flavors he must favor. She returns the box to him and drops the bag she picked in the boiling water in the cup he gave her. His hands appear to be trembling ever so slightly when he does the same. She wonders whether they always do or if it's something that's caused by her presence.

The tea far too hot to drink for now, she tries and fails to get more comfortable on the couch. The same goes for trying to find something to say while she looks at Mr. Gold from beneath her lashes.

"You look very lovely, Miss French," he says, not quite looking at her either.

Only then she realizes that the light in the living room is brighter than in the hallway and in the kitchen, and that he must fully see only now what she's wearing. She can't help but be somewhat delighted; she is wearing her best dress for the occasion, whatever said occasion it may be exactly.

"Thank you," she says, smiling a little in appreciation while her cheeks flush.

"I... I hope it wasn't too forward to say so," he adds hurriedly when the silence between them lengthens once more, looking at her rather anxiously.

Admittedly, the same flattering words have been said to her dozens of times, although the polite way he addresses her is definitely different than what she's used to. She also very much appreciates that his words aren't accompanied by the patronizing tone of her father or the entitled one of her ex. Indeed, the familiar words are different when he says them; a sincere and unassuming compliment.

"It isn't too forward at all. I appreciate your compliment, Mr. Gold, thanks again."

He relaxes slightly in response to her reassurance, but Belle herself is yet more bewildered by the progress of the evening he invited her for... and yet more doubtful on how to behave around him.

She removes the tea bag from the still hot water, which gives her something to do for at least a few seconds, but after that she once more no idea what to say or do.

"Please, Miss French, take a biscuit if you like," her host says, breaking the stale silence again while he shoves the plate towards her over the low but large table to a position which she can actually reach.

"Thank you," she says, gratefully doing as he requested before lowering herself back into her seat.

She takes a careful bite of the unfamiliar cookie, making a sound of approval when she tastes it crispy texture and subtly sweet taste for the first time.

"This is wonderful!" she exclaims, beaming at him to underscore her appreciation.

"I'm glad," he simply says, taking a small bite from his cookie as well.

Realizing that these cookies are doubtlessly far beyond her own budget, she decides not to ask where he got them and instead simply enjoy devouring the lovely treat as much as she can.

Still, the couch refuses to get comfortable. She wonders if he would take offense if she were to select another seat - whether he has any comfortable chairs at all. In contrast, she knows only too well that her tea is barely any less hot than the previous time she thought about it.

Belle gratefully takes another cookie when the landlord offers the plate again a minute or so later, but after that there's not much else to do but study his home as discreetly as she can. Doing so, she finds that there isn't any holiday related decoration to be found in his interior. She already knew that there aren't any outdoors either.

She has the sneaking suspicion that the reason that there is no Christmas tree – nothing at all to celebrate the holiday – has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that there barely is any space to place such items to begin with.

Risking another glance at her host, she finds him staring at his cup of tea, as if trying to make the beverage cool enough to drink by sheer force of will.

"Mr. Gold," she says at length, her confusion and unease outweighing her desire to be a polite guest. "Please, can you tell me why you asked for my company? It would help me a lot if you could tell me why I'm here exactly."

He looks abruptly up at her when she speaks, his eyes almost startled, as if he had all but forgotten that she was actually there. For a few seconds she thinks that he isn't going to reply to her question at all, but then his shoulders sag ever so lightly and he lowers his gaze in what might be defeat.

"I am... I am a solitary man, Miss French. I'm used to being on my own. I _enjoy_ being alone, usually. But in the past year... I've found that I've grown tired of having no company whatsoever. Christmas last week was... unpleasant because of that. I preferred not to have that experience again."

Belle looks at him closely as he talks, not quite meeting her gaze when he does so, intrigued by the new insight this gives her into the most elusive man in town.

"Mr. Gold, if I may ask... why did you ask _me_ to spend this evening with you? I hope you don't mind me saying so, but we barely know each other."

"It's true that we are hardly acquainted. But I hope... I hope that we can be, Miss French. Better acquainted, I mean. As for the reason that I asked _you_... let's just say that there is one person in town who doesn't cross the street when they approach me on the sidewalk. One person who doesn't look away from me. There's one person in this town who sometimes _smiles_ at me."

He looks at her meaningfully, finally meeting her gaze after all, and her heart aches a little at the discovery just how lonely the man sitting opposite her is.

"That person is you, Miss French. That's why I asked you to come here this evening. That's why I hoped that spending the evening with you might make it more bearable."

"I'll strive to make this worth your while then," she says, still a little uneasily, struck by how his solitary existing weighs on him now that she also finds out that the lack of friends in his life doesn't seem to be as self-chosen as she thought. "Is there something in particular you'd like for us to do this evening? Maybe you would like to talk? Watch television together? Something like that?"

"I hope that you wouldn't object to participating in some games with me," he says, looking away from her again.

"What sort of _games_?!" she says, the sudden edge to her voice as tense as her body when she's suddenly seeing the rather outrageous amount of money he's paying her for this visit in a whole new light.

The landlord had _said_ that he had nothing but appropriate intentions and she had believed him, but Belle momentarily forgets this now that he states that he wishes her to take part in 'games' of sorts in exchange for the five hundred dollars he's paying her for these few hours.

"I... never mind, Miss French," he says, standing up with a speed that bewilders her for anyone, let alone for a man relying on a cane. "This was a bad idea. You should go now. I'll pay you the remainder of the money I promised you and hope we will never speak of this again."

"Wait, what?" she cries out, not understanding why he looks yet more horrified than she feels herself, as if she just unknowingly confirmed a suspicion he has had all along… unless there wasn't anything scandalous whatsoever about the suggestion he just made.

"I'll see you out," he says, gesturing to the hallway.

"I'll go if you want me to, of course!" she says hurriedly, standing up herself. "But please, I... I think I misunderstood you, Mr. Gold. Can you elaborate what sort of games you were talking about?"

"Board games," he simply says, scrunching up his face as if there isn't any sort of other game he can imagine himself referring to.

"Oh," is all Belle can say, realizing her instincts are still correct after all... and that the two of them have reached a yet rougher patch of her visit.

"I was hoping..."

His voice trails off, but he reaches behind the couch to reveal a brightly colored box of a considerable size which was clearly standing there just for this occasion, offering it to her.

"Settlers of Catan!" she cries out with excitement, eagerly taking in the clearly much used but carefully handled box.

"You know it?" he asks with unmistakable hope.

"I've never played it myself, but I've read wonderful things about it," she says, turning the box around so she can study the description of the game on the back.

"I was hoping we might play a game or two," the landlord says tentatively.

"I'd love to!" she beams at him, almost giddy at the prospect of it.

"You do?!" he replies, his disbelief clear.

"I've been wanting to play this game for ages, but..." She considers her words, then decides that she might as well tell the truth and refer to her lack of money, time _and_ interested fellow participants to buy and actually play the game. "I've never had the... means to play the game before so I'd love to do so now."

"Well, if you truly don't mind..." he says, gesturing at the table where their cups with tea are still standing untouched.

"That would be wonderful!" she exclaims, at the same time recalling the none too comfortable seat she had before. "Is it possible for us to sit somewhere more... comfortable, though?"

"This is the most suitable table I have, but I can fetch you a cushion to sit on instead of the couch, if that would be adequate?"

"If it isn't any trouble..."

"Not at all, Miss French. Not at all."

When he has made his way out of the living room, she opens the box he left on the table and happily examines the small wooden playing pieces and the equally cheerfully colored tiles which, she already knows, will be placed together to form the board.

By the time the landlord returns, she has taken and sorted all material from the box and has her nose buried in the booklet with the rules of the game.

"We won't be needing that," he says, taking the booklet from her when he hands her two cushions. She startles, not having heard him return, but Belle is happy to look away from the booklet and materials, yet more intrigued by him than by the game itself. "If you trust me to properly explain the rules to you, at least."

"Of course I don't mind following your explanation instead of reading the rules."

"Excellent."

"Have you played this game often?" she asks, reminding herself not to voice too many of the questions which come up in her mind at her assumption that Mr. Gold has frequently played it, given that he seems to know the rules well enough to explain them to her without having to rely on the booklet.

"I have, but not since my s..." He stops speaking abruptly, looking at her in what might or might not be an accusing manner when he settles himself back into his chair. "Let's get started with the game."

Although her curiosity is piqued yet more, Belle decides to heed his unspoken warning and focus on the reason that he asked her here to begin with rather than his past and the secrets lurking behind his perhaps slightly less stoic than usual facade.

Finding that sitting on a cushion on the floor next to the low table is as comfortable as she thought, she decides that the once clearly often and lovingly handled but by now worn and rather dusty game materials speak for themselves.

No matter how fascinating the landlord is himself, Belle is entirely focused on his narration when he explains the rules of the game. Before she knows it, they're already playing a few practice rounds. When she discovers that playing the game is as effortless yet strategically challenging as she already thought, they agree that it's time to start a first, real game.

They play in silence except for her incidental questions, his muttered instructions and the trade negotiations which mainly she herself is the one to initiate every once in a while. Often, the two wooden dice are the only thing to make any sound at all while they place their miniature settlements, roads and cities onto the board, receive and play both resource and development cards and sip their tea.

Although Belle estimates that they've played for more than an hour, it feels like hardly any time has passed at all when the first game is over. She would have been surprised that she has defeated the cunning landlord if she wouldn't have the suspicion that he has purposefully gone easy on her, perhaps in an attempt to entice her to play a second game.

"Let's play one more?" she asks, delighted when he immediately nods in approval of the suggestion.

"It would be my pleasure," he replies. "Would you care for some more tea?"

She nods enthusiastically as well, using the time Mr. Gold needs to re-fill their cups with boiling water to make the material ready for another game.

"Do you promise not to let me win this time?" she asks when he returns, right when she is finished with her own task.

"I promise," he says solemnly, looking sufficiently scolded.

Mr. Gold sits down opposite her again and offers her another cookie. She accepts it happily and starts to think on how she's going to tackle the next game, having all but forgotten that she isn't actually playing what's already her favorite game with someone who might as well be a dear friend and who isn't in fact paying her for all of this.

Munching on the cookie, Belle doesn't require as much attention as before to focus on strategy. It allows her to study the man opposite her instead, every once in a while looking at him through her lashes when she pretends to be staring at the board.

He looks as stern as he always does, even in the comfort of his home when partaking in a leisure activity. His own gaze solely focused on the board and their playing pieces on them even as he devours another cookie as well, she supposes that he at least looks less threatening and harsh than people say he is.

Admittedly, most of what she knows about him is little more than hearsay, seeing that she personally barely interacts with him. Her father always kept her away from him and now that she lives in the apartment above the public library, she's one of the few people in town who don't pay rent to him.

Although he is mainly known as a landlord, he has a pawn and antiques shop as well. If the rest of the evening will be as interesting and pleasant as the time she has spent with him now, she might as well visit him there in the new year. Who knows what she might find in the shop which is almost as mysterious as his house... and who knows what else she might find out about its elusive owner.

Her full attention returns to the game when she notices that Mr. Gold tries to cut her off to get to the most profitable lands on the board – the ones which _her_ roads already started heading towards several rounds ago.

She may be happy that he isn't going easy on her any longer, but in a strategic sense Belle isn't all that pleased that he appears to do his very best to defeat her instead.

"I'm going to kick your ass off the board," she mutters under her breath, a more fanatic approach already starting to form in her head as she decides to give him a taste of his own medicine as soon as she can.

Only when he snorts in unmistakable laughter, she realizes that she has spoken the warning out loud. Her apology is stuck in her throat when he looks at her with humor, as if he perceives her words as a challenge rather than a threat.

"I'd like to see that, Miss French."

"You will, soon enough," she bluffs, glad that he took her accidental remark the way he did.

Seeing Mr. Gold smile for the very first time, her thoughts are taken away from the game for a while however. With his lips curved genuinely upwards like this and what might as well be mischief dancing in his eyes, he is almost unrecognizable.

Belle may hardly know the landlord and she definitely doesn't know _this_ smiling man, but she very much would like to – just like she would like to play many, many more board games with him.

For now, she simply enjoys the game which they've already started on. And enjoying it she does, far beyond playing the actual game itself. Yet more than trying to get the best of her opponent, it's the interaction with the man opposite her that she savors.

Belle can't quite put her finger on it, but there's definitely something that has changed between them since he chuckled at her unintended remark. There are more smiles now and she is no longer afraid to accidentally brush her fingers against his when they exchange cards or hand one another the dice.

When she manages to prevent him from cutting off her trade road and beats him to the next good spot on the board while she's at it, her rather smug grin is met by an expression of mock indignation.

"I'll get back to you for that, dearie," he says, smiling even as he points a not quite threatening finger at her.

"I'd like to see you try," she says, laughing while she playfully swats at his finger.

Mr. Gold does beat her eventually, but only by a small margin. She barely notices and doesn't care at all. In fact, she doesn't realize until the very last moment that he has reached the final amount of points already, far too busy exchanging quips with him almost non-stop.

It's something which she can only describe as banter... surprisingly _easy_ banter, especially when she finds out that he's as fond of literary references as she is herself – that he makes her laugh like no one else ever has.

It seems only normal that they play a third game and that Mr. Gold eventually gets tired of reaching for the cards and wooden pieces on the table all the way from his chair, causing him to sit down on the floor on the second cushion he brought earlier that night.

Belle supposes that they might as well could have played until either of them fell asleep, but when the two of them aren't nearly approaching that point yet – when she's in fact on the verge of defeating him – the sound of fireworks interrupts them.

"It must be midnight," she muses, having all but forgotten that it's New Year's Eve. "The new year has started."

Mr. Gold looks up from the game, blinking at her as if he had lost awareness of the world outside the living room yet more than she had.

"We can watch the firework show from upstairs, if you like. From the attic we will have a good view."

"That sounds lovely."

"Why don't you go ahead?" he suggests while she gets up, having some difficulty in doing so since she has been sitting on the cushion for so long. "I'll be right behind you."

She doesn't immediately understand why he's saying that, but when he reaches for his cane she realizes that he'll probably have a lot more trouble than she had herself to get back up on his feet.

"Nonsense," she says, offering him her hand. "I'll assist you, if you like."

For a moment she thinks he's going to refuse her offer, but then the landlord gratefully takes her hand.

"That's very kind of you, Miss French. But I must warn you that I'm not in the best of shapes. I barely go upstairs at all. Just let me know if you no longer wish to help an old man. I don't mind."

"You're hardly _old_ ," she remarks, although she inwardly agrees that he's not in good shape when they almost tumble over and she has to throw in all of her admittedly limited weight to help him stand up. But she's quite certain that has to do with his bad leg rather than his age. "Just lean on me."

He looks like he is about to protest, but after he has grabbed his cane he tentatively places her arm around her shoulder.

"That's it," she cheerfully encourages him, finding a strange delight in the discovery that he trusts her like this, especially when he nods in approval when she moves her arm around his lower back to rest it on his side, further supporting him.

It's strangely intimate to make their way to the staircase like this, the sides of their upper bodies all but pressed together. It's far from unpleasant, though. If anything, there's something quite special about touching the aloof landlord at all, let alone in such a manner.

The three flight of stairs to the attic are fortunately broad enough to allow both of them to remain moving next to one another. Mr. Gold is panting by the time they're only halfway the first flight of stairs and their progress is slow to say the least, but she is only more determined to get the two of them to a vantage spot to watch the fireworks now that it's increasingly clear to her that the landlord has known little more than the ground floor of his home, his shop and the front doors of his tenants for a long time.

They reach the attic eventually, making their way through the large variety of dusty, sheet-covered items that are stored there to reach the window. Belle gasps when she discovers just how high they are, giving them arguably the best view on the fireworks show of the entire town. In the light of day, she's quite certain that she would be able to see the sea from this very spot.

They watch the firework in silence, still standing side to side. The landlord's breath is slowly but surely becoming calmer, his posture straighter. He continues to lean on her though and she is grateful for that, finding comfort and a sort of excitement alike in the way his body presses against her, warm and solid but soft.

The firework show is over quite soon, leaving them in the dark but for the light of the moon and stars; with their slow progress, they must have been lucky to have seen the last part of it at all. She doesn't care much about the end of the display; in fact, she's quite eager to continue their game and to emerge herself again in his clever and dry wit.

To her bewilderment, Mr. Gold lets go of her after all and reaches for his pocket, retrieving a wallet. There's nothing left of the soft wonder on his face which she has admired there for the greater part of the night.

"You fulfilled your end of the bargain, Miss French... wonderfully so, if I may say. It's past midnight now, you can go. You've more than earned your reward."

She numbly takes the money he offers her, having all but forgotten that he is _paying_ her in exchange for this wonderful evening. When she glances down at the bills in her hand, she is horrified to see that he has given her five hundred dollars, yet more than he had initially promised her.

No matter how well she could use the money, she doesn't _want_ it... not for _this_ , at least. Barely able to look at all that money, she hands it back to him.

"I can't take this."

"Why not?!" he asks, utterly bewildered.

"Friends don't pay one another to spend time and have fun together, do they?"

Any reluctance she may have had to boldly refer to the two of them as 'friends' disappears when she sees the tentative but unmistakable flicker of hope in his dark eyes.

"This is the best New Year's Eve I've ever had, Mr. Gold," she adds, reaching for him again to place her hand carefully on his lower arm. "Truly."

"The same goes for me, Miss French," he says softly, putting the money back in his wallet when she nods firmly for him to do so. "This is by far the best evening I have had in a very long time. I haven't had this much fun since..."

He stops speaking, lowering his gaze again, but not before she catches a look of pure anguish on it. The way he falters vividly reminds her of the way he did so earlier tonight as well, when she asked him whether he often played the board game he's clearly very fond of.

"I haven't had this much fun since before I lost my son," he says eventually, visibly bracing himself to get those words out.

"I... I'm very sorry, Mr. Gold," she breathes, squeezing his arm in what she hopes is an encouraging manner.

She doesn't know what else to say, having had _no idea_ that the landlord had a child, let alone who he lost. It must have been a long time ago... and he clearly has been suffering, all on his own, ever since.

"Do you have any resolutions for the new year?" she asks softly, looking at him intently.

"What would be the point?" he shrugs, still not looking at her.

"I do have a resolution, you know," she realizes, deciding to share it with him right there and then. "You see, I just had a very lovely evening playing a wonderful game with a very pleasant man. I'd like to have more of such evenings. I'm going to persuade the man with whom I had such a delightful time to invite me more often... a _lot_ more often."

"That's very ambitious, Miss French," he says, looking at her after all from the corners of his eyes. "I've heard that the man you are referring to is difficult to be around. But if he were to invite you to come over to play more games and perhaps to talk, for example same time next week... would that be to your liking?"

"That would be wonderful. I would very happily accept that invitation."

"That is... that delights me," he says, smiling tentatively at her. "And now that we're talking about New Year's resolutions, I think I just came up with one as well."

"Do tell," she prompts, smiling back at him.

"I think I would like to try to make a friend this year," he says, looking meaningfully at her. "Someone with whom I can play board games and with whom I might talk about my son."

"That's a wonderful resolution, Mr. Gold. Very achievable too, I think."

"I beg to differ on the latter, Miss French, but... I'm going to give it my best."

"Why don't we finish the game now and you can tell me about your son later, if you like?" she suggests, hoping that he perceives the offer exactly as she meant it: to give him some time to consider what he might like to tell her about his son – whether he'd like to tell her anything at all tonight – rather than to brush over the delicate subject in favor of the unfinished game they left downstairs.

"That sounds delightful. But before I forget..."

He turns until he is face to face with her, tentatively reaching for her free hand to link their fingers for a brief moment.

"Happy New Year, Miss French."

"Happy New Year, Mr. Gold," she breathes, her shock that all her good intentions left her forgetting to actually share her best wishes for the new year with him disappearing when he smiles at her again, his expression open and hopeful.

"Shall we?" he inquires, gesturing in the direction of the staircases.

She nods in agreement, their arms easily finding one another again to offer him support as they prepare for the gradual trip downstairs, back to the cozy living room which might as well be quickly become her second home very soon.


End file.
